


why don't we get together

by sabinelagrande



Series: Concerning Philippa [2]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Baby Phil, Backstory, Dancing, Discovered by the Media, Domestic, Donuts, Established Relationship, F/M, Family, Female Phil Coulson, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, I Don't Know Anymore, Loss of Virginity, Matchmaking, Phil's Dad Is the Best Dad, Post-Battle, Public Display of Affection, Sequel, Shovel Talk, The Avengers Are Nosy, Unabashedly Saccharine, Virgin Steve
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-22
Updated: 2013-03-12
Packaged: 2017-11-14 19:10:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bits of Philippa and Steve, from here and there and everywhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Paparazzi

**Author's Note:**

> So here are a bunch of little bits of stories, set in the same universe as [you don't feel you could love me (but I feel you could)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/515931), where Philippa Coulson and Steve Rogers are in an established relationship. Expect sweetness. Lots and lots of sweetness.

Steve remembers the morning that he screwed up very clearly. They were at his house, and Phil had slept over, like she was doing more and more. She left at four, which was also very familiar; he'd seen her to the door, just like always, but they'd lingered just a bit longer than usual, long enough that Sitwell honked at them. There was no harm in it, not when the paparazzi didn't usually turn up before daylight- at least, that's what Steve thought at the time.

And then Steve gets a text message from Tony, and he clicks the link, and even on the tiny screen of his phone he knows it's bad, bad news.

The photo is better quality than Steve expected, which is somehow weird; these things are supposed to be grainy and salacious, not just regular old pictures. Not that this is a regular picture, not when he and Phil are heavily engaged in kissing, especially not when the headline of the article says CAPTAIN AMERICA AND ASSISTANT GET PERSONAL.

Uh oh.

Steve texts her, and she doesn't text him back.

More uh oh.

So his next move is to go up to the Helicarrier; there's no telling what's going to happen when he gets there. He's definitely going to get chewed out, though it's not clear yet who by. Fury he could probably actually handle better than Phil. Fury will just yell at him about compromising his agent; Fury knows what fake contrition looks like and won't stand for bullshit, but Steve is actually sorry, which might soothe his wrath at least a little.

But if Phil does it, Steve isn't as sure that he can handle that. He doesn't really want to know what she's going to say, what she's going to accuse him of; she's the epitome of level-headedness, but this is a very special situation.

He heads for the bridge first; thankfully, Fury is nowhere to be found, so Steve walks down the steps, looking for someone with some answers.

Sitwell holds his hands up. "She's at the range, I don't know anything, and I don't want to know," he says.

"Thanks," Steve tells him, clapping him on the shoulder, and he sighs as Steve leaves.

At the range, Steve waits for a cease fire before going down to Phil's station; when she spots him, she takes off her earmuffs, though she doesn't look entirely happy to see him.

"Captain," she says, the same blandly affable mask on her face that she's so very good at. "We don't see you out here much."

"I didn't really come to shoot," Steve says, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Then you're in the wrong place," Phil tells him, which is the most efficient 'screw you' he's heard from her in a long while.

"Uh, so I take it you saw," he says.

The muscles in Phil's shoulders tense. "I'm aware of the situation, yes."

Steve is getting the very strong urge to head for the hills. "I just, uh, wanted to know how you felt about it."

"It's a security breach," Phil says. "Measures will have to be taken."

"That's not really what I asked," Steve points out, which he realizes after it's left his mouth is kind of like poking a badger with a stick.

Philippa's hands ball into fists. "I graduated from college when I was nineteen," she says, and her voice is just like normal, except with something very dangerous behind it. "I have a masters degree in foreign relations. I was in the Army and the NSA. Nick Fury recruited me personally for SHIELD. I am a major reason why Manhattan is not a smoking crater, and they thought I was a _personal assistant_."

"Oh," Steve says, nonplussed.

Phil raises an eyebrow at him. "Oh?"

"I didn't think of it that way," he admits. "I thought you were embarrassed. Of me." He clears his throat. "Of being caught with me."

She shakes her head. "Something is wrong with you," she tells him, but she sighs when she sees his expression. "Nothing is wrong with you. I am annoyed by the press coverage. I am angry that people assume I get your coffee. I am upset that people know we're dating, because that is personal. But I could never be embarrassed of you." She smiles, and Steve feels intensely relieved. "Briefing's at three."

"What briefing?" Steve asks, confused.

"We need our stories straight. I'm not a very good personal assistant if I don't know where you get your dry cleaning done, Captain Rogers," she says, and there might even have been eyelash batting. She smirks. "You didn't think I was going to miss a chance for a new cover, did you?"

Steve stares at her. "You're so sneaky."

"If you hadn't figured that one out, then I really am embarrassed." The cease fire ends, and she picks up her earmuffs, putting them on. "Now go away or I'm going to shoot you."

He decides to try his luck, leaning down and pecking her on the cheek, and she smiles.

Then she picks up her gun, and Steve gets the hell out before she makes good on her promise.


	2. Powder

When they have the luxury of choosing how to eat instead of taking whatever's shoved into their hands mid-mission, Phil's careful about how she eats; she makes a big exception on Saturday mornings, when Steve has seen her eat an entire bag of little donuts in one sitting. Today she has powdered ones from the grocery store, her favorite brand, which Steve has learned to buy. She'll eat the other ones just fine, but he's gotten to the point where he can tell when she's humoring him. It's sweet, but that doesn't mean he likes it.

They're sitting on the couch watching whatever's on the TV, something unimportant. They haven't gotten around to clothes yet this morning, just sitting around in pajamas, Steve with his cereal, Phil with a big mug of coffee and her donuts. Even halfway through the bag, she's surprisingly clean, unmarked by white powder. Steve can't manage it, ending up like he'd just been through a snowstorm when he'd tried them.

"I don't know how you can eat those things and not make a huge mess," he tells her.

"It's not hard," she says, taking another bite. "You just have to be careful." 

No sooner than she's said that, a bit of powder flakes off, falling straight onto her chest. It doesn't land on her shirt; instead it goes right into it, landing in her cleavage.

Phil pulls at her collar, looking underneath it. "I swear to God, Rogers," she says, looking back up at him, "if you say one word-"

"So that's where you hide it," he says, unable to resist.

Phil narrows her eyes at him, and he leans over, kissing her- and that's so new, so incredible, that he can have a kiss whenever he wants, doesn't even have to steal it. She looks somewhat appeased, though not entirely. "I'm going to remember that."

Steve sighs. "I know."

He doesn't add that it was worth it.


	3. Nosy

Phil shifted on the uncomfortable wooden seat across from the principal's desk. Her father sat beside her, clearly annoyed, and Phil looked away. She wasn't sorry, not at all, but she'd be so sad if he was disappointed.

"Mister Coulson, I've called you in here because Philippa has gotten herself into trouble," the principal said, looking over his glasses at him. Phil slumped in her seat, pulling her red, white, and blue baseball cap down further over her eyes. "It seems she got into a fight with another student."

"Did she win?" Phil's father asked.

The principal pursed his lips. "She broke his nose, and he had to be taken to the doctor."

He raised his eyebrows. "Why did you break his nose, Phil?" he asked her.

She crossed her arms resolutely over her chest. "He said the Dodgers were gonna lose and that Captain America was stupid."

"This is the second fight that Philippa has been in this year," the principal reminded them. "We have to address this problem."

Her father snorted. "Sounds like she solved it."

"This is serious, Mister Coulson."

"I am serious," he replied. "My little girl's gotta defend herself, or those boys will eat her alive."

The principal frowned. "That's just not the way things are done, Mister Coulson."

"Why not?" he demanded. "Seems like a lot more would get done around here if a few more noses got broken."

"Mister Coulson, we have certain expectations here. If Philippa won't act ladylike, then-"

"Come on, Phil," her father said, standing up and taking her hand. "We're going."

"Mister Coulson-"

"Let's leave before I break the nice man's nose myself."

"Mister Coulson!"

"Daddy, he got blood on my Dodgers shirt," Phil told him as they walked away.

"That's okay, baby, we'll get it out," he promised. "Don't you worry."

"Are you mad at me?" she asked tentatively.

"No," he told her. "But what did I tell you?"

"That I should punch them in the stomach."

"Right in the stomach," he said approvingly. "Don't leave any evidence. Who are they gonna believe, him or you?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"Come on. Let's go get ice cream."


	4. Victory

Today was good; the mission went smoothly, not too many buildings were destroyed, and Agent Coulson didn't have to yell- okay, she doesn't yell, not really, but she didn't have to bark at him at all.

In the field she's Agent Coulson, not Philippa; he's Captain Rogers, not Steve. He runs the action and she runs the backup, and they're a well-oiled machine, right up to the point where they're not. That usually happens when Stark is gumming up the works, but Steve's gotten to the point where, at least seventy-five percent of the time, he trusts Stark to screw up in the right way to bring the mission home.

They were shooting at robots, which is so, so much easier than shooting at anything else, what with their predictability and his lack of regret at putting them down. Only Tony seemed a little sad about it; Natasha caught him trying to collect some of the pieces for his own ends.

"It's not like they're corrupted or anything," Tony protests as they stand in the lab after the debriefing. "I was just picking up legs and arms. Totally harmless."

Bruce just shook his head. "Only you," he said. "I'll be in the commissary if anyone needs me," he added, and Steve was happy to not follow him. He'd seen Bruce eat after the big guy came out, and it wasn't exactly a pretty sight.

"What about you, Cap?" Tony asked.

"I was looking for Phil," Steve confessed, "but-"

"Going home for victory sex?" Tony says with a smirk, sitting back against the lab table. "I love victory sex."

"That's crass, Tony," Steve says, frowning angrily at him. 

Tony opens his arms, looking about the room as if for backup. "Have I ever been crass?" he asks. "You should be more careful in your accusations, Captain. I just suggested that the best way to burn off excess adrenaline was to go home, take off your pants, and-"

"That's enough, Stark," Phil says from the doorway, in the voice that even Tony listens to, which is a hell of a thing to hear.

Tony looks at her, eyebrows raised. "No victory sex for you, then." He pats Steve on the chest. "Tough luck, Cap," he says, getting out of there, carefully not taking the same door as Phil.

Steve looks after him, frowning; he doesn't realize that Phil is next to him until she puts her hand on his back. "Do you want to know what Stark is actually going to do?" she asks.

"I'm not sure I want to know the answer," he says.

"As soon as he's done baiting half of SHIELD, Stark is going to go home and collapse into his bathtub, where JARVIS will make sure he doesn't drown," Phil tells him. "Eventually, Pepper is going to find him, wash his hair, and put him to bed."

"You seem pretty sure about this," Steve said suspiciously, not exactly pleased about his girlfriend knowing so much about Tony Stark's bathing habits.

She shrugs. "It's my job to be sure."

"What am I going to do?" he says, putting his arms around her.

"Well, _I'm_ going to my quarters to take a shower and a nap," she says, squeezing his waist briefly before she lets him go, "so you better decide for yourself."

"Nap sounds good," Steve says.

"Come on," she says, plucking at his uniform. "Let's get you out of this."

"Yes, ma'am," he replies, letting her lead him away.


	5. First

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rated Explicit, so if that's not your thing, y'know, feel free to peace out.

Philippa's the one who decided to call it an early night; it took a frustrating misunderstanding or two for Steve to find out what that really means, but now he's fully on board with this idea, plenty of time to do plenty of things of which Steve is a big fan.

She's hot and wanting in his arms, unabashedly so. He's grown accustomed to her hands on his body, his hands on hers, the things her touch can do to him, but he's never really ready for how good it feels. His memory of it never lives up to the real thing, the actual feeling of her skin when she's tucked up close to him.

She has her hand on him, kissing him as she strokes him; her touch is so familiar, quick fingers ridged with gun calluses, and he moves into it, wanting more. They've only gone so far, only as far as he wants, and even though he's worried about disappointing her, she seems pretty satisfied right at the moment. He slips his fingers inside of her, where she's wet, so wet that it feels like she's begging for it, her body asking for what she's good enough not to say out loud.

He's been considering and reconsidering for weeks, what he wants, what he's willing to do. He's not a teenage boy, as much as she makes him feel like it sometimes. He can keep himself under control, make his decisions without his dick being involved. But the other side of that coin is that he's an adult; there's no one to hold him back, no one to tell him no, no one to hold him accountable but himself.

The decision happens in a flash, when it actually happens. "I'm ready," he says, unable to find a sexier way to say it. "If you'll let me."

She doesn't look shocked, but she does look thrilled. "Whenever you want," she promises, moving her hand faster.

He bites his lip, taking his fingers out of her. "You have to stop doing that if this is gonna work out."

"Sorry," she says, kissing him instead, curling her fingers around his hip. "How do you want me?"

That's a big question, one with a lot of possibilities, certainly more than Steve can even think of. He doesn't have the first clue what he's doing, and he doesn't want to hurt her, doesn't want to use her. "I want to see your face," is what comes out of his mouth, and her expression says it was a good answer.

She looks at him for a moment, thinking, then puts her hand in his. "Come with me."

He has no idea what's going on for a second, but she sits him down at the edge of the bed and climbs into his lap, straddling him. That makes pretty good sense to him; absolutely no complaints on his end.

"Shouldn't I-" he says nervously. "I mean, do you want me to wear a condom?"

"Don't need it," she says, kissing him, and he's happy to take her at her word. "Are you ready?"

He'd better be, because they're so close he's almost inside of her already, and it would just be a terrible waste if he chickened out now. He takes a deep breath. "Yeah."

She lifts herself up, taking his dick in her hand and guiding it in. He moans as she takes him inside of her, every single bit of him, so wet and tight and hot and nothing like anything he's ever felt before. It's so, so good, so perfect, exactly what he never knew he wanted.

He shakes his head, pressing his face between her breasts. "I'm not gonna last."

She laughs breathlessly, pulling him up and kissing him. "You're not supposed to." She starts to move her hips, and he gasps, overtaken by the sensation. "Just relax."

She rocks slowly against him, and he does his best just to hold on, keeping his hands on her hips to encourage her. He's probably going to leave bruises, he's done it before accidentally, but she never cares. He's seen her put her hand on her hip when she thinks nobody's watching, splayed out where his fingers were, and it makes his mouth go dry every time.

She's really lovely like this, her body shaking as she rides him. Here in this moment, he wants everything, all of her; he never wants to leave her, wants to stay inside her forever. This is the first step, the first time, but he's sure right now that he's going to do this as much as he possibly can, going to spend every moment he can spare on her, with her. He doesn't think she'll complain very much; she's considerate like that.

He's getting so close; he wraps his arm around her waist, the other hand on her back, keeping her next to him, so she can't get away, not that she ever would. She'll let him and let him, and that's beautiful, that she wants him that badly, bad enough that she's not even shy or embarrassed about how much.

She pushes down on him again, moving just so, and he comes, feeling lost, shaking against her. He memorizes her face in that moment, fond and warm and just a little jubilant, like she's proud of him, proud of what she's done. He wants to remember every single thing about it, about the first time they made love, but he doesn't think that'll be hard; he doesn't think he'll ever forget.

She eases him gently backwards, laying him out on the bed, and he sighs, still breathing heavily. He slides his hands up her thighs. "You didn't-"

She takes his hand, kissing it before she guides it between her legs. "Make me."

This part he knows how to do; he's gotten pretty good at it, if he does say so himself. She's in no mood at all to be teased, all wound up from what they've just done, and he works his fingers quickly, just how she's trained him to do it. It's no time before she comes, groaning; it's a little overwhelming, feeling her around him while he's still so sensitive, but he's pretty sure that's going to be astounding when he can hold out for it.

She stretches out over him, kissing him; he feels lax and decadent, a little debauched- maybe a lot debauched, but not like he thought he would. He doesn't feel like a slut, and it doesn't feel like he's done a bad thing. It was amazing and he loves her, and it doesn't feel wrong at all.

"Was that good?" she asks, stroking the side of his face.

"Perfect," he says, wishing he had a word that was stronger.


	6. Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prompt fill for [coffeesuperhero](http://ao3.org/users/coffeesuperhero) and [jimsdailydairy](http://jimsdailydairy.tumblr.com), who asked for Phil and Steve dancing.

StarkTube still perplexes Steve, most days. There's just so much video, and it's so _fast_ , and there are all these hundreds of thousands of people sharing with each other. It's totally mystifying to him, and somehow it's really comforting that people his age- the one he looks, the one he feels, mostly- can remember a time without it, too.

But he queues up video after video, and he watches and watches, trying it out while Phil's not around. He's really not bad at it, he doesn't think; he's pretty good with his footwork when he's fighting, and this isn't all that different. Keeping to a beat instead of moving whenever he needs to is rough at first, but he's getting the hang of it.

Or he could be doing it all completely wrong and just have no idea. That's also a possibility.

"I'd like to take you dancing," he tells Philippa, as she picks up the empty dinner plates and carries them into the kitchen.

She gives him a curious look. "What kind of dancing?"

Steve realizes he doesn't really know how to answer that question. "Um," he says. "I think I know the foxtrot."

"I'm not even sure where people foxtrot anymore," she says, and Steve is starting to think this was a bad idea, which hurts a lot, more than he expected. "I'll find out," she adds.

Two weekends later, he's pulling out Phil's chair at a small nightclub, the kind that prides itself on being a place out of time; Steve finds it a little spooky, honestly, but that feeling subsides as Phil slips her hand into his, her thumb tracing over his skin. They're playing all kinds of music, fast and slow, some Steve recognizes and some that must be after his time. Steve likes it, the calm of it; his life has always been hectic, now and before, and little snatches of time like this one are always welcome.

The waitress is beside herself to be serving Captain America, but she's good enough not to mention it, just stumbles over her words and freaks out a little when Steve smiles at her. She brings them ostentatious drinks that he insists on paying for even though they're on the house, and that's when she finally gets up the nerve to ask for Steve's autograph. He's about to sign a napkin when Phil produces a sharpie and a trading card out of her purse. Steve's kind of dumbstruck, but the waitress is over the moon, so it works for him.

"Do you just carry your trading cards around and give them away?" Steve says, puzzled.

"They're not mine," she says. "These are the Topps reissue. I get them for ten bucks a pack at Toys-R-Us." Steve is still looking at her askance. "Imagine if some little kid came up to you and didn't have anything at all," she says, and her face looks like that's the saddest thing she can think of. The kids who come up to him, they usually have cards or toys or little shields or t-shirts; he suddenly feels like the world's biggest asshole for not thinking about the kids who don't.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," Steve says.

Phil smiles. "Starve."

A song starts up that Steve's been practicing to, and he thanks God for small mercies. "Shall we dance?" he says, standing up and holding out a hand. 

Phil takes a breath. "No time like the present," she says, taking it. He leads her out, finding an opening amongst the other dancers as he tries to get the rhythm right in his head. They get in position, and he steps forward and she steps forward, and they look at each other. "Shit," she says, "I think I learned to lead."

Steve tries to flip it in his head, working through it backwards. "I'll see if I can follow," he says, reversing their arms. She nods her head for a second, waiting for the beat, and then she steps forward again. Steve's quick to figure it out; it's easier than he thought, the movements making sense once he gets them down, flowing together. 

"Slow, slow, quick quick," Phil is muttering under her breath, looking down at her feet. Steve wants really badly to laugh at her, but he never would, not when she's doing this for him. She's so out of her element right now, and Steve knows exactly how much she hates that; her greatest skill is making every situation into her element, but it's not working right now.

She doesn't back down, though, just like Steve knew she wouldn't; she just keeps right on dancing into the next song, and Steve loves her for that, the way she'll just stick to it. She knows how to soldier on, even when the going gets tough, and she never backs down from a challenge. It just so happens this challenge is a couple of dance steps, and that's hilarious, but it's still very admirable.

For the song after that, the vocalist takes the stage again, and Phil looks intensely relieved when the music turns slow and soulful. "I don't think I can foxtrot to this," Steve says.

Phil puts her arms around his neck, resting her face against his chest. "All you do is just hold and sway."

"I can manage that," he says, putting his hands on her waist. There's really nothing to it at all, just moving back and forth, brushing his feet when he even moves them. His hands slide onto her back, pulling her closer. All her shampoo and soap is unscented, typical well-placed SHIELD paranoia, so the whiff of spicy perfume he catches is a surprise, a gift. She's a surprise herself, something he never thought he could have, this perfect woman who, inexplicably, wants to be all his. 

"My arms need someone to enfold," Phil sings softly, and Steve stops, right there on the dance floor. She looks up at him questioningly, and he takes her face into his hands, kissing her. He doesn't mean to do it as hard or as desperately as he does, but there's too much behind it, so much emotion that he can't even stand it.

"Do you want to go?" she asks, reaching up and brushing his hair back.

He shakes his head. "No, I- I just needed to."

Phil nods, pillowing her head on his chest again, and they dance.


	7. Question

It starts- or Phil becomes aware that it has started- on an otherwise perfectly normal afternoon. It's kind of boringly prosaic, actually; she's mostly just analysing intel, preparing for the next mission. She's grateful for the interruption when there's a knock on her open door. "Friend Philippa," Thor says, with his usual cheer.

"Thor," she says, standing. "Please, come in."

"I came to offer help," he tells her, claiming the chair across from her desk.

Phil gives him a confused look, sitting back down. "What kind of help would that be?"

"As a prince of the realm of Asgard, my word is not law, but it is very close," Thor says, with typical humility. "If Captain Rogers is forestalling, I will speak with him and convince him of the error of his ways."

Phil gives him a blank look. "Forestalling what?"

"Your nuptials," he says, like it's completely obvious.

Phil very stubbornly resists slapping her hand against her forehead. "That won't be necessary," she tells him. "We can't- it would be inappropriate for us to be married, so-"

"You and Captain Rogers are a fine match," Thor says dismissively. "I will hear no objections from others, but I doubt there are any to be heard."

"Thor, I don't know if you've heard this phrase," she says, trying a new tack, "but it's appropriate to say that I'm already married to my work."

He shakes his head. "That is no kind of marriage."

"I'll think about it," Phil says, recognizing very clearly that there is not another choice if she wants him ever to get out of her office without her getting married on the spot.

"Do," Thor says. "For life among Midgardians is short, my friend, and happiness rare." He stands, giving her a hearty pat on the back before taking his leave.

Phil watches him go, hoping that's the end of it, hoping her other colleagues have more sense than to bring up such a ridiculous idea to her.

It isn't and they don't.

\--

Steve is standing on the bridge, minding his own business, looking out at the sky; Director Fury is standing next to him, observing everything very carefully, Steve probably included. The silence is as companionable as it gets when Fury is involved, as peaceful as SHIELD ever is.

They both turn at the sound of shoes on the metal floor. "Captain Rogers," Phil says, and though she's very practiced in keeping it entirely together in front of Director Fury, Steve's not as good at it.

"Agent Coulson," he says politely, though he can feel how widely he's smiling.

"I came to notify you that the mission briefing's been moved to 1530," she tells him, and neither of them mention the fact that she could have just sent him a message instead of walking all the way up here.

"Thank you, agent," Steve says. "Was there anything else?"

She smiles, the way she does when she's amusing herself. "I've also been asked to notify you that they have fried chicken in the commissary."

"My favorite," he says, smiling at her, and he sort of wants to kiss her, even though this is precisely the wrong time. "Thanks for the update." She gives him a nod, and it's almost impossible to keep from watching her as she goes; he just hopes it isn't too completely obvious.

Fury raises his eyebrow. "She's really got you by the balls, doesn't she."

"Keeps them in a jar on the nightstand, sir," Steve responds, because there's no sense denying it.

Fury turns, walking away. "Tell her I'll sign the paperwork as soon as she brings it to me."

Steve frowns. "What paperwork?"

"That's need to know, Captain," Fury says, and Steve spends the whole day puzzling over it.

Once he figures it out, he wonders what the hell he's going to do.

\--

Natasha straps a knife to her ankle before she zips up her boot, taking the other ankle holster when Phil offers it to her.

"I don't want you pulling these out unless it becomes necessary," Phil says. "And I want you to remember that it always becomes necessary slightly later than you think it becomes necessary."

Natasha just rolls her eyes, putting on the holster. "I'll take that under advisement." She gives Phil a look. "I'll try to have us home before dinner."

Phil raises an eyebrow at her. "You can have us home when the job is done."

"Wouldn't want you to miss quality time with the Captain," she says dryly.

"Agent Romanov," Phil says, in the special exasperated tone she reserves only for Natasha in situations exactly like this one. "We will do the job and we will do it right. We will always do the job and do it right, no matter whether we are working alone or with the Avengers Initiative."

She snorts. "Of course we'll do right with the Avengers," she says. "It doesn't hurt that Captain America can do no wrong."

"He's perfectly capable of doing wrong," Phil tells him. "It's just that he doesn't." She shakes her head. "Natasha, I think by now you know me. I think you know what I'd do if he put one toe out of line."

Natasha purses her lips, crossing her arms and looking hard at Phil. "Never let him know how much money you make," she says finally.

"Don't worry," Phil says. "I already keep enough to run."

Clint sticks his head in. "Did I miss gossip? Are we talking about Steve?"

Phil narrows her eyes at him. "We're talking about why you're taking so damn long to suit up."

"I'm already done," he tells her. "But if you need to take a break to see your man before we leave-"

"Give it a rest, Cupid," she says, and he cheerfully flips her off. "Time to roll out."

\--

Steve's really got to learn not to even go to the lab. He's pretty sure it's never once worked out for him.

"I have a great place," Tony tells him, looking up from whatever delicate, dangerous thing he's working on. "Beach, beautiful vistas, big drinks in coconuts."

Steve gives him a blank look. "Tony, what are you talking about?"

"You probably want a church, though," he says critically, taking off his gloves. "Can't help you. Can't go in without bursting into flames."

Steve puts his hand over his face. "Not again."

"Fun fact- did you know Bruce is an ordained minister?" Tony says. "Also, what is this about 'again'?"

"Taping 'Captain and Agent Rogers 4 Ever' to the back of my shield wasn't necessary, Tony," Steve grumbles. "It's childish."

Tony busts out laughing, unable to control himself for at least five minutes. "Oh my god, I wish I'd thought of anything as amazing as that," he says, wiping away a tear, and Steve makes a mental note to have words with Clint. "But in all seriousness, plan whatever you want, because I'm paying. It's my wedding present to you. We both know you're not going to have a registry. Phil doesn't have time, and you can't work the little scanner thing. Also I assume two grown adults who are shacking up already own a blender."

"Tony-"

"Sorry, it's already done," Tony says, waving a hand. "Your fate is sealed."

Steve is about to protest again when he realizes it could be so very, very much worse. Tony could have promised to pay for the bachelor party.

\--

They're getting ready for bed, and Steve is thinking about it, still thinking hard. He's standing across the bed from her, and he catches her eye; she must have some opinion about the look on his face, because she looks expectant, almost nervous.

"So," Steve says.

"Yes?" Phil says.

Steve stalls out, unable to think of anything. "Did you lock the back door?"

"I didn't unlock it today," Phil says.

"Good," Steve says, getting into bed. "Well, good night."

"Good night, Steve," Phil says, looking relieved. She climbs into bed next to him, turning off the light, and he pulls her close, kissing the back of her neck.

They sleep.


	8. Family

Phil hasn't seen her father since before Loki's invasion, before she was stabbed; Steve doesn't know what he was told about what happened, if he was told anything, and he doesn't feel like asking is a good idea. Instead, he just gets in the car when she asks, feeling incredibly nervous.

He suspects Phil already knows why.

"What exactly am I getting into, here?" he asks, as she drives them out of the city.

"My father is a perfectly normal man," Phil says mildly.

Steve gives her a look. "I know that tone."

Phil doesn't say anything for a moment. "Ninth grade," she says, keeping her eyes on the road. "Bobby Masterson was my date to the school dance. I don't know what happened, but my dad had a rifle, and Bobby left in a real hurry."

Steve looks at her in shock. "That's horrible."

She shrugs. "Wasn't loaded. Besides, if you can't hold a conversation with a reasonable man who's holding a firearm, don't waste my time." She glances over at him. "Don't worry. They don't let him have firearms at the home."

"Good to know," Steve says carefully. "Is that, uh, representative?"

"That was the most forceful," she allows, "but it wasn't that shocking."

"What does your father think you do?" he asks, changing the subject. "I want to make sure I don't say the wrong thing."

"He knows I do something for the government, and he thinks it's not his business," she says. "But he certainly doesn't think I'm your assistant."

Steve sighs. "I'm never going to live that one down."

She smiles. "Nope."

They pull up in front of a nice-looking place with a well-manicured lawn; inside, an orderly directs them into a well-appointed sitting room, a lot nicer than Steve had imagined these things to be, based on what everybody seemed to say. There's a man sitting against the wall, and Steve knows instantly that it must be Phil's father. They have the same nose, the same eyes, the same no-nonsense look about them. 

He stands as they walk closer, holding out his arms, and Philippa goes to him, letting him wrap her up in a big hug. They're speaking softly to each other, and Steve suddenly feels like he's interfering, like he's not really family and couldn't really understand.

It hurts more than he expected.

They finally let each other go, and Phil's father looks a little misty-eyed. "Steve, this is my father," Phil says, and he knows she's watching carefully as the two of them interact; he didn't expect less.

"Captain," he says, giving Steve a firm handshake. "I've been dying to meet you. Since about 1943, as it happens."

"Dad," Phil says. Steve's never heard her sound embarrassed before, and it's sort of adorable- not that he would ever, _ever_ tell her that.

"What?" he says innocently. "I'm an old man, Phil, I'm allowed to be honest. Sit down, let's talk."

The entire conversation, Steve has the distinct feeling of eyes on him, two sets; he hasn't gotten this kind of scrutiny from Phil in a long time, and her father is just as sharp. Mr. Coulson is a big fan, the way that only his oldest fans are, the ones who saw the performance and saw the end and grew up to watch the world fall apart for the thousandth time but still understand the hope, the fact that it wasn't all a lie. He's different in their eyes, and he can see it in the wistful way they smile at him.

Well, his oldest fans that aren't the little old ladies who pinch his butt. They're just old enough to not give a damn about getting a piece of their teenage crush- or, indeed, their old-age crush.

Mr. Coulson doesn't pinch his butt, which is good, because that would be awkward on so many levels. He just tells jokes and looks pleased when Steve laughs, even while he's watching Steve like a hawk and making no real secret of it. He's being examined from both sides here, how he is with Phil, how he is with her dad. Steve is very sure that he is being graded on his performance, and he hasn't wanted to do better on something in a very long time.

It's exhausting.

\--

It's not easy to slip out on Phil; it takes both of them and the assistance of a staff member to escape into the garden. But then they're alone, and it's now or never for Steve. This is superfluous, he knows, because Phil doesn't care one way or the other- in fact, it's probably better if she doesn't find out. This is entirely for Steve's benefit; there's a lot he's learned to adapt to, to give up and make do without, but it just isn't _right_ not to do this.

They walk for awhile in silence, before Steve finally stops, looking at him. "Mister Coulson, I, uh, I'm not sure how-"

"I know what you want to ask me, son, so go on and ask me," Mr. Coulson tells him.

Steve takes a deep breath. "I wanted to know if you'd let me marry your daughter."

Mr. Coulson doesn't speak at first, and Steve resists the urge to squirm under the pressure. "Let me explain something to you, Captain Rogers," he says, looking Steve straight in the eye. "You are the only man who will ever be good enough for my baby girl, in my eyes or hers. Nobody else will ever measure up. And if _you_ don't measure up, I'll have both your knees broken. If you're very lucky I'll make sure it looks like an accident."

Steve swallows. "Yes, sir."

He pats Steve's face. "Good boy. Now go and make my daughter an honest woman, if she'll have you."

Steve lets out a big sigh. "That's the hard part."

Mr. Coulson shakes his head. "Her mother was the same way."

"How did you deal with it?"

"I just didn't quit asking her," he says, with a grin. "I don't recommend trying that with Phil. My Astrid didn't carry a loaded gun."

"I'll certainly keep that in mind," Steve assures him. "Believe me, I will definitely keep that in mind."

\--

"Did he take you outside and threaten you with bodily harm?" Phil asks, as they climb into the car to head home.

"Yes," Steve admits, fastening his seat belt.

"He must like you," she muses. "He used to threaten boys with bodily harm to my face." She shrugs. "Then again, it's been about fifteen years since I brought anybody home, so maybe he's getting soft."

Steve looks at her thoughtfully. "I see where you get it from now," he tells her.

She raises an eyebrow at him. "Get what from?"

"Everything," he says, and she just shakes her head, smiling.


	9. Introduction

"I brought you a present," her father said, sitting down at the edge of the bed and handing her the package. She opened it excitedly, pulling out a deck of cards. She'd never had any of her own before; the boys never let her see theirs, and she maybe ruined her chances when she punched one of them for it. They weren't like the ones they had, though, no baseball players, just a picture of a man in a red, white, and blue uniform, holding a big round shield.

"Who is he?" Phil asked.

"This is Captain America," her father said, and Phil's fingers traced over the man's shiny uniform. "He's one of the greatest men who ever lived. Certainly the greatest man who ever lived in Brooklyn."

"Wow," Phil said, entranced.

"When I was little, I had all his comic books," her father said. "He was always fighting off the Nazis, saving us from Hitler."

Phil looked up at him. "Did he do a good job, Daddy?"

"He did a great job," he told her. "He went up and punched ol' Hitler right in the face."

"I bet he knocked him out cold," Phil said excitedly.

"That's right," he replied. "Nobody could stand up to Captain America."

She looked at the cards, studying them, reading the facts on the back. "What happened to him?"

Her father looked away for a moment. "This part is sad, Phil, but it's important," he said softly. "He died in the war, protecting the soldiers. It was him or them, and he sacrificed himself so they could live. That's the most important thing he did. There's nothing more noble than laying down your life for someone else." Phil nodded, looking at the cards in her hands, at the Captain's smiling face; he didn't look like he knew what was coming.

It was very sad.

"These aren't the ones I had as a kid," he told her. "Those are lost somewhere in Grandma and Pop-pop's attic. I bought these ones just for you."

"Thank you, Daddy."

"Be careful with them," he said. "Don't let those other kids get their fingers on them. I know you know how to be good to your things. Not everybody does."

"I'll be careful," she promised. "Can we look for a book about Captain America at the library?"

"Of course we can," he said. "I bet we can find a good one." He stood up, ruffling her hair. "We can go tomorrow, just as soon as you finish your chores."

"Okay, Daddy," she said, and he smiled, leaving her with her cards. She flopped down on her stomach, spreading them out in front of her, poring over them all afternoon.

And so on.


End file.
